Category: landscape

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Yves Winter, What Is an Imaginary?, Critical Inquiry.

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… feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night!

Gerard Manley Hopkins

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“I was always under the impression that love is boundless. That true love makes a mockery of the distinctions that separate people. That love, if it is indeed love, abolishes the boundaries that police the self.”

Paul Chan on Love Is Blind (4Colmns)

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my.WordPress.net takes the same technology that powers instant WordPress demos and turns it into something permanent and personal. [A] complete WordPress environment that runs entirely in your browser.

Keep Android Open.

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Minor Compositions Podcast Episode 39 From Disalienation to Collective Care. Institutional Psychotherapy as Resistance.

Madness, Media, Milieus.

Institutional Psychotherapy: Legacy and Constellations of Francesc Tosquelles. (Folk Art Museum)

After Catastrophe: The Video Art of François Pain, Perwana Nazif. (MUBI)

Geo-psychiatry: Media and the Ecologies of Madness, Elena Vogman. Grey Room (2024) (97): 76–117. https://doi.org/10.1162/grey_a_00413

Psychotherapy and Materialism
Essays by François Tosquelles and Jean Oury
Edited by Marlon Miguel, Elena Vogman

Radical Philosophy Dossier: Fanon-Tosquelles

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The order of the day is a practice of self-help that unsettles the very idea of ‘the self’, treating it as a communal construction instead of an atomised agent.

The goal of treatment in the asylum is the same as it is on the couch. Tosquelles believed that, whether a patient suffered from psychosis or neurosis, whether he was working-class or bourgeois, his purpose was to become who he really is. This in turn requires ‘a cultural change in worldview’. The point is not to stop being crazy since, on some level, everyone is crazy. The point is to be able to identify what in the world is making you sick, and to begin to reconstruct your personality in opposition to this toxic state of affairs. The self is always collective and so are its ills. We may experience suffering as discrete and private, but chances are that it is historical and, if not exactly public, at least widely felt.

[…]

The ‘cultural change in worldview’ effected by good psychiatric treatment begins here, with the recognition of sex work as a form of social and psychological competence.

[…]

… encouraging sick or even just normally suffering people to make art together

[…]

The asylum became a refuge, but also a place where play and experimentation could happen”

Sous les Asiles, la Plage, Anahid Nersessian. (Serpentine Galleries, 25.02.2026)

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I love how it swells
into a temple where it is
held prisoner, where the god
of blame resides. I love
slopes & peaks, the secret
paths that make me selfish.
I love my crooked feet
shaped by vanity & work
shoes made to outlast
belief. The hardness
coupling milk it can’t
fashion. I love the lips,
salt & honeycomb on the tongue.
The hair holding off rain
& snow. The white moons
on my fingernails. I love
how everything begs
blood into song & prayer
inside an egg. A ghost
hums through my bones
like Pan’s midnight flute
shaping internal laws
beside a troubled river.
I love this body
made to weather the storm
in the brain, raised
out of the deep smell
of fish & water hyacinth,
out of rapture & the first
regret. I love my big hands.
I love it clear down to the soft
quick motor of each breath,
the liver’s ten kinds of desire
& the kidney’s lust for sugar.
This skin, this sac of dung
& joy, this spleen floating
like a compass needle inside
nighttime, always divining
West Africa’s dusty horizon.
I love the birthmark
posed like a fighting cock
on my right shoulder blade.
I love this body, this
solo & ragtime jubilee
behind the left nipple,
because I know I was born
to wear out at least
one hundred angels.

Anodyne, Yusef Komunyakaa

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Martial, the things that do attain
  The happy life be these, I find:—
The richesse left, not got with pain,
   The fruitful ground; the quiet mind;

The equal friend; no grudge, no strife;
   No charge of rule nor governance;
Without disease the healthful life;
   The household of continuance;

The mean diet, no delicate fare;
   True wisdom join’d with simpleness;
The night dischargèd of all care,
   Where wine the wit may not oppress;

The faithful wife, without debate;
   Such sleeps as may beguile the night:
Contented with thine own estate,
   Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.

The Means to Attain Happy Life, Martial, born Marcus Valerius Martialis, translated from the Latin by Henry Howard

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There, there’s only order, beauty: abundant, calm, voluptuous.

Invitation to a Voyage, Charles Baudelaire

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                            1

Wilt thou go with me sweet maid
Say maiden wilt thou go with me
Through the valley-depths of shade,
Of night and dark obscurity,
Where the path has lost its way
Where the sun forgets the day
Where there’s nor life nor light to see
Sweet maiden, wilt thou go with me?

                            2

Where stones will turn to flooding streams
Where plains will rise like ocean waves
Where life will fade like visioned dreams
And mountains darken into caves
Say maiden wilt thou go with me
Through this sad non-identity
Where parents live and are forgot
And sisters live and know us not?

                            3

Say maiden wilt thou go with me
In this strange death of life to be
To live in death and be the same
Without this life, or home, or name
At once to be, and not to be
That was, and is not—yet to see
Things pass like shadows—and the sky
Above, below, around us lie? 

                            4

The land of shadows wilt thou trace
And look—nor know each other’s face,
The present mixed with reasons gone
And past, and present all as one.
Say, maiden can thy life be led
To join the living to the dead?
Then trace thy footsteps on with me
We’re wed to one eternity.

An Invite to Eternity, John Clare